Jenga
by UberNerd121
Summary: Alternately titled "Fletcher's Third Parent."


The first few months of Fletcher's life after Two went back to work were spent mostly in Nos-4-a2's office. It was a roomy chamber on the first floor of the library, largely occupied by an L-shaped desk with one part against the wall and the other extending into the room so that two people could sit facing each other on either side. Nos sat on the inside of the L, a holoconsole for his work to his left and Fletcher sitting across from him along the bottom of the L. Behind him, a large window looked out on Two's vegetable garden.

The framed pictures that usually decorated the desk between Nos and Fletcher had been swept aside after Nos became a full-time father, leaving room for books, games, and portable holoprojectors to keep Fletcher entertained. At the present moment, it held a towering game of jenga.

Today was Fletcher's first time playing the game, a good exercise for the development of his spatial processing. He learned more with every move, starting to take longer to consider his options every time he knock the tower down. That part didn't matter so much ‒ Fletcher loved setting it back up as much as Nos loved his fit of giggles when everything came crashing down. Plus, the time Fletcher spent rebuilding gave Nos longer periods to focus on his work, scribbling notes on his tablet while he could.

By the time they'd been playing for an hour, Fletcher had gotten pretty good. The tower, full of gaps, had grown so tall that he needed to hover off his stack of booster pillows to balance the blocks on the top of the tower. Even Nos had to spend more time making moves, wondering if he'd finally be the one to bring the tower down. He was just starting to pry a loose block from the middle of stack when a noise from the console almost made him knock it all over. He looked over his shoulder and frowned.

"I'm sorry, little one, I have to take this call. I'm afraid it might take a while... are you okay if we stop here?"

"But we're not done yet!" Fletcher pouted, "I'm gonna win this time!"

"What if Quinn subbed in for me? I trust them to make the same moves I would," Nos suggested.

Fletcher, knowing he didn't have a lot of time before Nos had to answer, nodded slowly.

"There's my champ," Nos stood up, taking out his mobile communicator and rustling his knuckles against the top of Fletcher's head. "Quinn, would you mind?"

"Not at all, sir."

Nos-4-a2 hovered out to the library, leaving the door open so he could still see Fletcher while not picking up any background noise.

Two thin, hose like arms descended from ports in the ceiling, each bearing three dextrous fingers. Fletcher watched them start to maneuver the block that Nos had been moving before he left.

"Hello Quinn," he hummed.

"Hello, Master Fletcher," they responded as they edged the block from its place. They had to work very slowly to keep the structure from wobbling.

"That was pretty good," Fletcher watched them place the block on top of the tower, "Have you played before?"

"No, but I've been watching."

Fletcher blinked. "You have?"

"I'm always watching everything that goes on through every camera, just as I was designed. Quinn, security and service system, always online," they said with a certain satisfaction. Fletcher waited for the tower to settle before he started looking for another block.

"Does it ever get confusing?"

"No. I can do many things at once, far more than a free-moving robot like yourself. My processors are too large to fit into a mobile unit, but they allow me to manage as many tasks as I need to at any given time."

Fletcher tested a block with his finger, making the tower sway. "Wow. Does that mean you're smarter than Dad?"

It wasn't exactly a laugh, but Fletcher felt a tremor in the energy running through the walls and recognized the system's amusement. "Don't tell him I said so, but there's really no contest."

Fletcher grinned so wide that his eyeforms almost disappeared. He found the block that moved the tower least and started to shift it, giggling, "Don't worry. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Oh yeah? I wouldn't imagine you've been around long enough to hear many secrets."

Fletcher paused in finagling his block, smirking to himself. "I can't tell you anyway."

"Oh, you _are_ good."

The probeling looked very pleased as he worked the block out of place, and both of them sighed when he managed to pull it out without so much as a tremble.

"You're good at jenga, too."

Fletcher beamed. "Thank you!"

"You have made this difficult indeed. It doesn't look like any of these blocks are safe to move... oh, but what if I take one of these?" Quinn indicated a block across the top.

Shaking his head vigorously, Fletcher giggled, "No, that's _cheating!_ "

"Right, right, no fooling you. Let me see..."

He sat back and watched as Quinn tested every block, his eyeforms shining. It was the longest turn anyone had taken so far ‒ Quinn didn't plan on insulting Fletcher by going easy on him. When they finally singled out a block, Fletcher stared, dripping with anticipation. He knew it was going to happen as soon as Quinn moved it, and he watched with relish as it all came crashing down.

"Woo-hoo!" Fletcher lept from his seat with a few flaps of his wings, punching the air. He spun around to face the doorway and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, "Dad, I won!"

Nos-4-a2 beamed and threw him a thumbs-up.

"Haha, I did it Quinn!" Fletcher thrust his hand above his head and Quinn bumped their three fingers against his palm.

"You won fair and square, but I think that's because your father placed most of those blocks. Would you be interested in playing another game solely against me?"

"Yeah! I'll start rebuilding; can you grab the blocks that fell on the floor?"

Fletcher could have sworn he felt them smiling. "I'd be happy to."


End file.
